


Lies

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post-Book(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://gotexchange-mod.livejournal.com/829.html?page=1&view=80701#comments">Game of Thrones/ASoIaF Comment Fic Meme</a>.</p><p>They're lies, of course, but Sansa needs to hear them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

They had used poison for this one; they needed the death to look natural, and could not afford the kinds of questions that came whenever a knife was slashed. Petyr had no fondness for knives, as Sansa had learned over the years. He would make use of them when he needed (”A carpenter must make use of all his tools,” he told her once, as he played with a lock of her hair) but he preferred the distance that poisons granted.

That there was a reserved distance in their use could not be denied. When he first showed her his stores and explained to her the functions of each vial, it had caused her mind to reel until she felt faint. She had collapsed into his arms then, blaming it on some lingering fumes. She had noticed a glint in his gray-green eyes that told her he did not quite believe her, and frankly she didn’t blame him. She had seen too much over the years to grow weak over some foul odor. In truth, she had been thinking about every convenient death that had managed to advance their position, but had been just far enough removed from them as to not warrant suspicion. The connection between the slim bottles and those deaths had made her feel unclean, as though there was a stain on her she had not noticed until that moment. But when he had pulled her to her feet and began to tell her his plans, she could feel her shoulders strengthen a bit, even as she tasted bile at the back of her throat.

“Poison is a woman’s weapon,” he had told her as he slipped one of the glass containers into her gloved hand. “Elegant. And I find, sweetling, that it is the only lady’s art you are lacking in.”

It took some time for them to reach this evening, but Petyr did not feel it was time wasted and Sansa had to agree with that. When she placed the drops in the old man’s drink, her hand did not shake at all. As they had made their way down to dinner, her arm linked with Petyr’s, she had given him a light kiss on the cheek and a delicate smile that he returned.

The man took to his bed after supper, complaining of a stomach ache, and the two of them sat by the fire, trying to keep their mind’s occupied with work until enough time had passed for them to make a respectful exit.

Petyr’s lips were on hers almost as soon as she shut the door of her rooms, and Sansa welcomed it. It felt good to press her body against his, to dig her nails into his shoulders and have him respond by gripping her waist. It made her feel grounded, something real she could cling to for support.

“This was necessary, wasn’t it?” she said as he started to gather and lift up her skirts. It was more of a statement than a question, an assurance meant for her only. Still, she needed to hear him agree.

“Of course,” he answered absentmindedly, his lips on her pulse. He dipped a hand between her legs to find her wet, and laughed into her skin; the vibrations sent shivers down her back.

She wrapped a leg around him to ease the entry and eyed her bed across the room. As he pushed into her she threw her head back, exposing her neck, gripping onto him with both hands. It was exquisite, it was always exquisite, and yet he was being entirely too quiet. She needed to hear. “He would have killed me, for what I had done?” The words came in-between gasps for breath. She thought about all those deaths and repeated the list of names in her mind, like she did every night before she went to sleep.

Petyr kissed a line up to her jaw, and rested his lips at her ear. “He would. Don’t worry sweetling. You are only protecting yourself.” On the last word, he bit into her neck till she cried out.

Sansa tried to focus on the pleasure and pain, the feel of him between her legs and the bruised skin at her neck. “And my birthright—this is all part of that, right?”

Petyr laughed again, and rested his forehead on hers. His expression was completely unfazed, and Sansa could not envy him more. “I’ll have you made a new crown. Silver, with sapphires the color of your eyes.” Then he quickened his pace and all of Sansa’s words left her tongue. She focused on the feel of him, the press of the wood behind her, and tried not to think about the new name of her list.


End file.
